


When Evening Falls

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decisions can make or break a friendship, but they can also be changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Evening Falls

It was strange to think he had been made a soldier. Not born - no angel was ever born - but he remembered with perfect clarity the moment he was first created, another soldier in one of Heaven's then seemingly infinite ranks. He knew how to be a soldier long before the first war broke out.

When God created the first language, Balthazar had been quick to start using it, excited by the prospect of exploring something new. He had watched humanity flourish and laughed when the tower of Babel fell, learned each new tongue and shared the guttural lows and strangled heights of them with his siblings.

The peace could not last forever, and the friendships forged before mankind's cruelty infected Heaven came into their own during the war. Aeons saw Heaven's numbers dwindle into something finite, and then something smaller still. God had made His angels and made His humans, but He had not predicted either creation's capacity for bloodshed.

When the Word became a whisper, then a rumour, and finally silence, Balthazar knew it was not just Heaven's numbers that were limited - it was its days, too.

 

Staving off the apocalypse saw everyone bruised and beaten, Balthazar exhausted from endless battles with demons and Lucifer's loyalists, and even the archangels deigning to set foot on Earth to play their parts. He'd watched his siblings fall, die or flee, and after Castiel was cast out for helping the Righteous Man and his brother, Balthazar's sense of loyalty had felt strained, to say the least.

After Lucifer escaped the Pit, he had played his own part on autopilot, wondered what the point of the war was if Michael and Lucifer were the only players who actually mattered, their own Hector and Achilles.

When Michael fell into the Pit with Lucifer, Balthazar gave up on battle. It hadn't taken much of an effort to guess who would step up to take Michael's place or what they planned to do with the remains of Heaven's army. Balthazar had known better than to think Raphael would let those who had argued against him in Heaven's courts go without punishment, though he had given him the benefit of the doubt.

Balthazar's concerns regarding Raphael were quickly justified when Tabbris had her grace torn out and her remains cast to Earth, although the uproar at least provided him with the means of escape. Castiel's return to Heaven only fuelled the chaos further, and it would have been foolish not to take the chance to get out while there still _was_ a chance.

It would have hurt more to hear of Castiel's reaction to his supposed death if he had not so recently experienced the same horror and misery for a second time. Why Castiel kept being brought back he did not know, but beneath a jealousy of Castiel's immortality and a fear of its provider, he knew he was glad for it. Once it would have taken him a year to name all his living brethren in a human tongue, and now it could be done in an hour. Seeing a familiar face, however worn and weary, had been an unexpected benefit of faking his death.

 

Choosing where to fall was never an easy task, but Balthazar knew if he were to wander the Earth dazed and confused, making use of stereotypes amongst mortals could only be to his advantage. Borrowing an English body with an upper class accent was simply common sense, allowing him to work out human social graces by covering his own slip-ups with the guise of eccentricity.

If Heaven insisted on tearing itself apart, he'd be damned if he would spend his last days covered in his brothers' blood. Stealing its weapons was only as effective as stealing nuclear material from an army that still had guns, but the effort was worthwhile if he had forced the end back for another few months. Besides, picturing Virgil's face on finding his weapons' cache empty had been justification alone for the theft.

Castiel's fury on discovering Balthazar to have been the thief of Heaven's arsenal should have been a wonder to behold, righteous and pure as it was, but he had only been able to mirror that anger. Practise in his human form had him burying the emotion of his reply in dark humour, but when he told Castiel the fighting would never stop it had honestly hurt to see the differences between them laid out so plainly.

Castiel thought he could win a victory for Heaven; a victory for whatever God opted to bring him back from the dead while offering no other assistance. Castiel thought he mattered because of destiny and the divine plan - he did not see the value inherent in his very _existence_ , a value Lucifer had understood and been punished for understanding.

Balthazar might not have approved of Lucifer's methods or his end goals, but there had been moments where their brother's ideas weren't entirely abhorrent.

 

Leaving Castiel to fight his battles alone should have been easy after giving up so much to keep his last days for himself, but the loss of distance had meant the loss of ignorance. It was easier to put aside Castiel's plight when Castiel was just a name, a memory of friendship that nearly cost him his life on more than one occasion.

Seeing Castiel had made him all too real again; his brother had always been a deep thinker despite his rank, but something in him had broken down, changed him from something fierce and calm into something frightened, something in turmoil. The ferocity was still there, the strength of belief every angel ought to possess and so few had, but it was wounded. Worse still, Balthazar knew full well why Castiel was so close to unhinging - Balthazar might have faked his death, but keeping his grace when doing so had left him with a connecting thread to his siblings, something he could turn to in secret whenever he needed an anchor. Castiel's outright rebellion had left him alone in every way that mattered, and the humans in his charge only made that loneliness echo.

Sam and Dean represented all Balthazar had hated in the Heaven he had left behind, and their clinging to Castiel like old junk not only proved the old adage about God protecting children and fools, it weighed his friend down with constant reminders of a morality the apocalypse should have rendered irrelevant. Blind loyalty to your family meant only one thing if all your family knew was war - it meant walking a direct line to the same death your brothers and sisters had endured.

 

For all Castiel's apparent simplicity, Balthazar still struggled to make sense of him. Despite knowing Castiel from the start, having been friends with him almost as long, he had no more ability to understand his brother now than he had when they were created. Humans had so many ways of enhancing and altering the world, had art and sex and wine and music, but their interpretations of the universe did little to help him figure Castiel out. None of the languages of history could cover the full range of Castiel's peculiarities.

Castiel's efforts to stop the fighting in Heaven were like a bucket of water to a raging house fire - more harm than good, and a desperate attempt to save something that could not be saved. Even so, Balthazar could not help feeling a little regret at how their positions on the matter of Heaven were opposed, and there was a bittersweet pleasure in meeting up with Castiel again for a game of golf and a coffee. Two coffees, technically, but Castiel wasn't drinking.

It was good to play a game that could actually end, better still to spar afterwards in the rough, ignorant of their decidedly public surroundings. Venting their frustrations over the impasse they had reached was a relief, as was Castiel's ability to beat him several times over, even with a bit of rule-breaking thrown in. Balthazar didn't dare guess how many lives Castiel had left in him, but it was relief to see his brother intended to protect every last one.

He wasn't sure if Castiel was smiling when they called it a draw or if it was an illusion created by his split lip, but the tension between them certainly felt eased. Maybe it was foolish, but he wanted to ease it further. "Potassium gold cyanide," he'd said, wiping his bloody nose off on his sleeve. "If you want a weapon. Only works on Earth, but if you want to get someone out of their vessel, it's the quickest way."

Castiel didn't quite smile, but his posture did relax in the second before he disappeared.

"Thank you," Balthazar called out to the empty course, before smirking and summoning Castiel's coffee to his side. Waste not, want not.

 

As it turned out, neutrality only really worked if both sides were happy to accept a truce, and Raphael's side was not particularly happy. Raphael had no intention of letting those who had fled Heaven escape the punishments those who stayed and endured; there was also the small matter of Balthazar having disintegrated Raphael's vessel, but was it really his fault the tight-assed bastard held a grudge?

"You'll have to move again," Castiel pointed out, looking out at the city surrounding Balthazar's latest apartment. "Virgil knows you're here."

"Nice assumption," Balthazar replied, "That I'll keep running." He knew he was being childish, that running away was his only realistic option, but Castiel's matter of fact announcement had him feeling pretty sore about the whole thing. He liked settling down, and having to abandon his homes each time they were discovered was upsetting.

"Why wouldn't you?" Castiel asked, honestly curious as he shut the blinds and walked over. "I can't protect you, and I assume you don't want to die."

"Really?"

Castiel ignored him, opting to pick Balthazar's legs up rather than ask him to move them, taking their place on the sofa and dropping them into his lap. "It's not just you. It's everyone who ever opposed Raphael. Even those who didn't fight for me seem marked." Castiel's fingers toyed with the laces of Balthazar's shoes. "I could lose this war."

"It's an option," Balthazar replied, "But I wouldn't recommend it."

Castiel's expression was stern at first before easing into something softer, even uncertain.

"It's strange. I should be relieved this war has spread to others, but I'm not."

"Congratulations." Laces now undone, Balthazar kicked off his shoes, wriggled his toes before Castiel caught them in his hands. "That's almost human of you."

Castiel frowned, eyes focused on the task of peeling off Balthazar's socks and discarding them. "Is that an insult or a compliment?"

Balthazar gave a non-committal shrug, slid down a little on the sofa to get comfortable and reached for one of Castiel's hands so he could toy with it. It seemed only fair; Castiel's fingers were a beautiful thing on this vessel, even if he didn't understand Castiel's fascination with his toes.

Talking with skin was so much easier than talking with words, and Balthazar felt his stomach twist unpleasantly as a certain thought crept up on him. He knew Castiel as well as anyone could, but he had acted recently as if his brother had Lucifer's impulse control or Michael's cruelty. Castiel's resurrection had frightened him enough to colour his judgement, to make him ignore the thousands of years of knowledge he _did_ have.

It felt an awful lot like he'd been wrong for some time. "If you could stop Raphael," he asked, stroking his fingertips over Castiel's wrist, "What then? Standing in for Dad, that's not going to be easy."

"I don't know. We could try democracy."

Balthazar laughed despite himself, curling his toes against Castiel's thigh. "That's quite a gamble, isn't it?"

"Not voluntarily."

"It's still admirable." He uncurled his toes again, watched Castiel straighten up and smirked. "Proves you don't have a stick up your arse."

Castiel didn't respond to the taunt, though in all fairness he rarely gave any insults the dignity of a response, and Balthazar was happy to let that slide. He probably would have let the silence linger if he hadn't slid his foot further up in a tease.

No stick up his arse indeed, and he increased the pressure slightly, felt the increased heat and slight swell of Castiel's erection under his foot. He'd thought about this before, of course he had, but he'd given less thought to it in their vessels; Castiel was reserved enough in his true form that the idea of him indulging while wearing any other form was an impossible fantasy.

Castiel didn't budge and Balthazar licked his lips at the realisation he could have made Castiel come with his feet alone, made him come while still wearing those ridiculous slacks, without bucking his hips or making a sound louder than a whimper. For all Castiel's self control in other areas, he looked - lost.

Virginal.

"You're not still -" Balthazar started, before interrupting himself, swinging his legs down off the sofa and shifting up to sit at Castiel's side. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"Why does everyone find that so damned interesting?" Castiel snarled, rolling his eyes, and Balthazar grinned before pushing a hand down between Castiel's legs, gripping his brother tight.

"In case you hadn't noticed," Balthazar pointed out, using his free hand to tug Castiel's shirt out of his pants, "You're beautiful. How you've stayed a virgin is beyond them."

Castiel stared back at him, seemed tense. "Them, but not you?"

"I know you," Balthazar replied, and felt his gut twist again with something like regret. He wondered how many times Castiel had missed an opportunity without realising he had one; how often Castiel had forgotten to be selfish. "You can ask," he said as he unbuckled and unzipped Castiel's pants, shoving them down roughly. "If you want anything, tell me. Order me and I'll do it."

Castiel moaned even before Balthazar gripped his cock and thumbed the slit, finding it slick with precome already. Whatever had been holding Castiel back before seemed to have collapsed, and Balthazar had no complaints about finding his brother's hands on his face, thumbs pushing his lips apart for a kiss before dropping down to open his flies, hasty and almost, almost clumsy.

Castiel giving up his rigid self control was almost as delicious as his kiss, almost as delicious as the breaks and catches in his breath and the buck of his hips when Balthazar lightly squeezed his balls.

"I think," Castiel panted, shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth. "I should, do I -"

"Whatever you want," Balthazar replied before Castiel scrambled into his lap, bare thighs on either side of his own and strong hands on his cock, nearly too rough in their quick, hard movements.

"I'm almost there, and you're not," Castiel said, claiming Balthazar's lips again for a kiss, "I want you with me."

Balthazar was more than happy agreeing to that, and closed his own eyes for a moment to better concentrate on the sensation of being touched until he felt himself drawing tight. "Now," he muttered, returning a hand to Castiel's cock and fisting the other in his hair, reopening his eyes to watch.

His timing was only off by a few seconds, but every gasp, every shudder and buck and wet spurt of come he could catch between his own orgasm ripping all sense out of him was breathtaking.

And he was damned lucky not to need breath.

 

Balthazar pondered the use of cleaning his sofa if he didn't plan on taking it with him, wiped his hands clean on the fabric before wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist and holding him close. If there were any objections to what was undeniably a hug, Castiel didn't voice them.

Balthazar felt that earlier unsettled feeling coalesce into something undeniably stupid. Reckless. Borderline selfless.

Whatever Castiel had, it was probably catching.

"It'd be a pity if Raphael killed you again," he mumbled into Castiel's neck, knowing his brother could hear him perfectly well regardless. "I suppose you'd need a Heavenly weapon to stop him."

Castiel stopped drying his hands on Balthazar's vest, didn't respond despite the tension in his shoulders.

"I think I'll give you them."

"What?" Castiel straightened up, looked almost hurt, as if expecting a joke at his expense.

"If Raphael wins, we're both screwed. Might as well take a chance with you."

Balthazar felt Castiel's hands tighten against his vest for a moment before he found himself with bruised lips and a sore nose from a badly aimed kiss, Castiel crushing their lips together hard enough to hurt.

"Ouch?"

"Thank you," Castiel muttered. "Thank you, thank you -" And a sudden interruption to the kiss, Castiel pulling away and frowning. "Is this payment for sex?"

"What? No," Balthazar replied, pausing a moment to consider the suspicious circumstances before repeating, "No, it really isn't."

"Good," Castiel gripped his face in both hands and planted a gentler kiss. "I'd like to keep this free."

 

Balthazar should have guessed that was Castiel's cue to leave, but it was still odd to find himself with a cold lap, ruined vest, and the realisation he still had to find a new home before Raphael's thugs finished tracking down and breaking into this one.

There was also the small matter of having promised Castiel his weapons cache, and needing to find a way of breaking back into it to keep that promise.

He peeled off his vest and admired the stained and wrinkled mess of it, couldn't quite bring himself to discard it.

Despite being a virgin, Castiel had still managed to completely and thoroughly screw him in more ways than one.

At least this method had perks.

 

The End


End file.
